


A Loss and A Win

by WritLarge



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Fencing, Human AU, M/M, Pitch personality wise (not evil) but he goes by Kozmotis, ROTG Secret Santa 2017, Younger North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 10:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13211727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritLarge/pseuds/WritLarge
Summary: Koz had scowled at himself internally. Attractive or not, St. North had also been loud and boastful ... In his experience, such men were not to be trusted.





	A Loss and A Win

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lokifrostgiant101](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lokifrostgiant101).



> lokifrostgiant101: One of your requests was for this fairly rare pairing and I thought I'd stretch and give it a go. I hope you like it!

Koz stood on the piste, stunned and out of breath.

He’d lost.

Kozmotis Pitchiner, Grand Master of the Lunanoff Fencing Academy, had lost a bout.

His opponent was a newcomer, a man named Nicholas St. North. He’d been invited by Manny himself, with no forewarning to Kozmotis, of course. Koz got along well with the President of the Academy, save for when Manny thought he was doing something for him that was “for his own good”, an infuriating tendency. The condescension was intolerable.

The two of them were striking on the piste, standing out in the room where they were surrounded by students in traditional white, with Pitchiner in his all-black and St. North in a vivid red jacket, black trousers, and white socks.

They had not been formally introduced. Manny had simply brought St. North there during training, broadly informing the group of his name and leaving him in their midst. Rude. Kozmotis had opted to watch him from the other side of the room before approaching, hoping that the newcomer was less flashy than his brazen attire implied. He hadn’t been.

St. North was tall and broad with muscle. The dark hair that curled across his brow was threaded through with strands of silver showing his age and his jaw was strong. He sported a trimmed beard that was paired with a moustache, styled so that it curled at the ends, both highlighting his generous mouth. St. North was quite handsome, in a roguish sort of way. 

Koz had scowled at himself internally. Attractive or not, St. North had also been loud and boastful while he’d talked with the students, making them laugh. Charm radiated out from the man. It had put the Grand Master on edge. In his experience, such men were not to be trusted.

He hadn’t thought that St. North had had the proper respect for the art that he should have. In practice, he’d been technically proficient, but too ostentatious and predictable. Too eager to please. A show off. And of course, he preferred a sabre like so many impatient brutes did. Not Kozmotis’ sabre students, mind you. He beat that arrogance out of them straight away. 

As for grandiose displays, Pitchiner himself was known to enjoy a little flair, but of a more deadly and direct sort. Efficient and elegant. The foil was his preferred weapon, an option requiring more finesse and strategy, though he could easily best nearly all of his students with their weapon of choice as well.

And so, with his initial observations, Kozmotis had underestimated St. North. He certainly hadn’t expected him to have the skill of a master. St. North had shown a head for strategy, with quick steps, agile fingers, and flashing eyes that seemed to see right through him as they traded touches, rapid fire. Their conversations had been sharp. All eyes in the room had turned to them as points had accumulated, silent but for the clash of their blades. St. North had won by a single touch.

The students remained quiet, watching with avid interest.

Kozmotis lowered his sabre and pushed up his mask, glowering. “You are very good,” he conceded.

“I know,” St. North copied his actions and grinned at him, not intimidated in the least.

Smug bastard. Koz was torn between wanting to throw his sabre at the man and wanting to drag him into the nearest storage room. Somehow St. North drew him in, his charm magnetic and intoxicating. 

Preferring not to remain a spectacle, he gestured them off to the side and away from his curious students, determined to find out who this man was. Where had he come from and where had Manny found him?

“Where did you train?” With such an eclectic style, Kozmotis couldn’t pick out any one dominating influence, though perhaps more Western European? Estonia?

“Here and there,” St. North hedged, preferring to keep his air of mystery no doubt. “Russia, Germany, France…”

“And how long have you been fencing?” Koz asked, already half knowing the answer. If it was any shorter than two decades he’d eat his gloves.

St. North’s grin twisted, “All my life, though my swordplay began in a less... sportsmanlike environment.”

There was a dark shadow on the man’s face now. A sharp edge. It alluded to a story, a past with a beginning that seemed incongruent with the boisterous and amicable master who had just bested him, and it only fuelled Koz’s attraction. Nice people were boring.

“Well, perhaps we could discuss your technique further? I find your style very... intriguing, Mr. St. North.” 

It was as flirtatious as Koz would allow himself in a room full of gossipy students. St. North caught it right away, however, and he expanded with delight, brows raising and eyes sparkling.

“Just Nicholas. And I have many areas of expertise to share.”

Koz managed not to roll his eyes but it was a near miss. He may have been bested but Koz was an educated man and experienced in many arts as well. Perhaps a test of skills in other areas would be enjoyable? It had been too long since he’d faced anyone who could truly rise to his level, or had any company that was more entertaining than it was disappointing. Though if things went well, Manny would be insufferable.

“A drink then?” It would be a safe place to start. He’d be better able to take the man’s measure in a more neutral place and a glass or two of wine to relax would help temper his own reactions.

“I look forward to it, Master Pitchiner,” Nicholas agreed readily.

“Kozmotis, please.”

Nicholas nodded and gestured towards the piste, “Until then, another bout?” 

“Yes.” A rematch was definitely required. Koz fetched his foil and another for his opponent. “But on my terms this time, I think.” 

Nicholas laughed merrily, sending a thrill down Kozmotis’ spine.

“Whatever you like, Grand Master.” The title rolled off Nicholas’ tongue, rumbling tones full of insinuation.

Whatever he liked? Koz raked a glance over the man again. That was an opening he could work with.


End file.
